


The Masks We Wear

by infectedscrew



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anonymous Club!AU, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, Completed, Developing Relationship, M/M, Victor is still a skater, Yuri is also a ballerina, Yuri is the Prima, Yuuri is a ballerina, airplane puns, ballerina!AU, cliff-hanger ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: Victor is growing restless and losing all interest. Just when he feels himself sinking into a rut, Chris drags him to a local club. Armed with just a nickname and a fancy mask, he finds someone who gives his life light and meaning again.





	The Masks We Wear

The phone in Viktor’s hand buzzed violently, a gentle reminder that he had missed three texts already and a fourth one was on it’s way. He lifted his hand from Makkachin’s soft ear to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn’t really know how long he’d been staring at the magazine in his lap without actually reading it.

Makkachin’s cold nose bumped his hand and he chuckled quietly.

“I guess I should answer my phone, huh,” he told the dog, who only tilted her head to stare at him, tongue lolling out.

It was good an answer as any.

Two texts were from Chris and the last was a picture from Yuri.

Viktor opted to open Yuri’s first. He tapped on the picture, bringing up an image of Yuri’s cat who had managed to cram itself into a very small wicker basket. Normally the basket only held tissues but at that moment, a very large, fluffy cat had decided to occupy it. His lips quirked in amusement. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Potya but he could admit that it was a very cute picture.

At least five more images of the same thing were sure to be on it’s way. Yuri had twice as many pictures of his cat as Viktor had of Makkachin. Sending a quick smiling emoji back, Viktor went to Chris’ messages.

_‘I’m going out tonight. Come with me. Chris xx’_

_‘I’m not going to let you spend ANOTHER Friday night inside. I’m on my way to get you. Chris xx’_

Viktor blinked. He checked the timestamp on the message, then the current time. He checked again.

The message had come almost twenty minutes ago.

“Oh dear,” Viktor mumbled.

He was still for a moment before he flew off the couch and ran to the bedroom.

Half way through tugging a shirt over his head, his phone went off again. Not a message but a call that time. He didn’t particularly like talking on the phone--something Chris knew--which meant that it was fairly urgent.

“Hello,” he greeted once he’d tugged the shirt down and snatched up his phone.

“Your doorman won’t let me in,” Chris stated. “He is quite suspicious. He doesn’t seem to believe who I am. It must be the glasses.”

“A regular Superman you are,” Viktor said, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he tugged on pants. He had to hop slightly to get them up his hips.

“I would be a terrible reporter, you know that.”

“You would,” Viktor agreed.

“Anyway, let me in. It is impossibly cold and my cute, plump buns are starting to freeze!”

Viktor grabbed a sweater and hurriedly shoved his arms through it. “Give me a second, I’ll buzz you in,” he promised.

“Not a second longer!”

The call disconnected and Viktor dropped the phone onto his bed. He moved to his front door, tapping the intercom system next to it.

“Pavel, you can let Chris in,” Viktor announced.

“So it is the skater,” Pavel answered, almost in awe. “I’ll let him in.”

“Thank goodness!” Chris crowed in the background.

Viktor unlocked his front door so Chris could come in. He returned to his bedroom to finish getting dressed. Knowing Chris, he was going to drag him somewhere with a dress code. He didn’t particularly mind those sorts of places, in fact he usually liked getting dressed up. He just hoped that, wherever they went, it wouldn’t be stupid loud.

“That’s what you are wearing?” Chris commented.

Viktor looked over his shoulder, lowering the over jacket he had been holding. “Not good?” He asked. “I liked it.”

“If you want to pretend to be a tired art student for a day,” Chris responded. He slipped past Viktor into his closet. “We want something… classy, stylish for tonight.”

“Why? Where are you dragging me?” Viktor followed him in, taking note of Chris’ outfit.

Chris’ impossibly long legs were wrapped in tight black slacks, tucked into riding boots. He had a bright red, button up sweater on with a line of black lace roses stitched on the arms to the shoulders. A smart, crisp white shirt was buttoned all the way up to his neck with a sleek black neck tie to top it all off. He was wearing his glasses at the moment--Viktor knew that he preferred to wear his glasses off the ice and avoided contacts at all costs.

“You seem very well dressed to night. Where are you taking me?” Viktor asked again as Chris had been too busy rummaging around to answer Viktor’s question.

“To Le Soi Cache,” Chris answered, pulling a shirt out, frowning at it and putting it back.

“The what?”

“It’s a club downtown. I’ve gone a couple times and actually really liked it,” Chris clarified.

“You know I don’t like clubs,” Viktor pointed out. “Especially a lot of the ones downtown.”

It was not at all surprising that Chris had found a club in Viktor’s town before he had. He rarely went out. If he did it was because Chris or Yuri had taken him somewhere or he had ventured to a local cafe. He had recently toyed with the idea of going to Japan because he’d read an article about a superb hot springs that was close to an historic ninja castle. He had only tossed the idea out the window when Yakov had reminded him that the first competition was coming up.

“You’ll like this one,” Chris promised. “It’s very low key.”

“Low key for you or for me.”

“For you.”

That made Viktor curious. Chris had a similar enough taste in ‘low key’ but there was just enough of a difference that they could butt heads over it.

“Put that on. I’ll explain the rules on the way,” Chris said, shooing him into the bathroom to get dressed.

“There are rules?” Viktor questioned as the door was closed on him.

“Minor ones, don’t worry.” Viktor looked over the bundle of clothes Chris had shoved into his arms.

Certainly nothing too outside of his normal choice. Honestly, it reminded him of an English professor. Classier than ‘a tired art student’ but somehow in the same realm. Dark grey slacks with subtle, lighter gray pinstriping and a white button up were comfortable but rather simple for Chris’ taste, not that Viktor was complaining. He pulled on a matching vest. The perfectly tailored jacket was the same dark gray and hugged him in all the best ways. He slipped on the black, leather dress shoes and tied the neck tie under the collar. The necktie was one he had long forgotten about. Mila had gotten it for him as a gift. Icey blue and a little on the wide side, it had silvery snowflakes stitched into it. She insisted it brought out his eyes.

“Much better,” Chris stated as Viktor stepped out of the bathroom. He nodded approvingly.

“This is not what most consider clubbing material,” Viktor said, adjusting his tie.

“It is for where we are going.” Chris held up a long, brown trench coat that Viktor was sure he didn’t own. “It’s cold outside.”

Viktor shrugged the jacket on. He picked up his phone and wallet, slipping them into his pocket. Then he stopped, looking around his bedroom as if there was something else missing.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Chris said as he watched Viktor pause for entirely too long.

“You came all the way up here,” Viktor pointed out.

“I could just be showing off my outfit. It is very good,” Chris replied easily.

Viktor eyed Chris. He battled with himself. Staying in did sound good. He had spent all day training with Yakov but he had also spent the last three weekends at home. He had long since grown bored of his apartment. There were only so many walks he could take Makkachin on.

“Just for one night,” Chris suggested. “If you hate it you never have to go back.”

Slowly Viktor nodded. “One night,” he agreed.

\---

The building Chris dragged Viktor to was fairly nondescript. Tucked between a boutique and candle shop, it almost blended in. There were no windows on the first floor and the only way in was a solid, deep red door. It was, according to Chris, supposed to be entirely anonymous from clientele to architecture.

“The whole point is that whoever you are walking in, you are not them while inside,” Chris explained. He lifted a delicate black bag. “I brought your mask.”

“I have to wear a mask?”

“Technically, you don’t have to do anything. It’s just part of the fun. Plus I put a lot of time into picking one out for you.”

Viktor shook his head in amusement. He accepted the bag from Chris, taking a peek. He caught a flash of silver and gold.

“Anyway, the rules are fairly simple. Stay anonymous and enjoy yourself,” Chris went on. He pulled the door open for Viktor, gesturing him inside.

Viktor stepped through the door and found himself in an unassuming room. Rather small and on the beige side of the color spectrum, there were four doors leading off of the room. One went to a public restroom, two to the club itself and the remaining door was tucked behind the attendant’s desk. Which was a heavy oak structure with surprisingly clever designs carved into it. The young woman behind the desk looked up from the book she had been reading.

“Welcome,” she greeted them.

“Good evening,” Viktor returned on instinct.

Chris shuffled him forward. He signed himself into the guest book before taking their jackets and handing them to the woman.

“First time?” She asked, watching Viktor hesitate. At Viktor’s nod, she went on to tell him the rules.

The entire club was built around the idea of escape. Letting people relax without the facade of their normal lives holding them back. Masks and alias’ were not required but happily encouraged. If anyone chose to hide their identity, then it was carefully protected by staff. Any unwilling breach of secrecy was grounds for permanent ban especially if it threatened the comfort and safety of a patron. There was, of course, alcohol and a variety of weekly rotating menus to choose from. The first floor included a dance floor, private booths and three separate bars. The second floor was a lounge area with it’s own bar and roof access. The roof had another, much smaller bar and hot tubs for couples or larger groups to enjoy along with private seating.

Viktor listened to the woman roll through her explanation with a touch of trepidation. It didn’t seem all that hard to follow but there were quite a few nuanced rules to be aware of.

“May I check some form of identification,” she asked. “While I am looking at it you are welcome to write down your alias.”

“Think of something interesting,” Chris said.

The front door was pulled open, letting in a stiff breeze. A small group of people shuffled in. One of them spotted Chris and beamed.

“Chris!” The man called, moving over to him. He was incredibly tall and Viktor was sure that he had seen him compete at some of the smaller European events. “Good to see you.”

Chris stepped away from Viktor to fall into conversation with the man.

For a moment Viktor stared blankly at the paper the woman placed in front of him. All it asked for was an alias and his age. The second he wrote down quickly but the first made him stop. Nervously he fiddled with the bag Chris had given him.

“May I check your bag?” The attendant asked.

“Oh, of course. It’s just a mask,” Viktor said, handing it over. The woman checked inside and nodded. “It’s a lovely mask,” she commented as if she’d said it at least ten times already that night.

Viktor set the bag on the desk and pulled out the mask. It was carved to curve down past his left cheekbone while a curious shape across the brow was reminiscent of a crown. Overall it was a soft, warm gold with streaks of silver radiating out from the sides. It reminded him of a sun. Clutching the mask close, his alias sprang to the front of his mind. With a satisfied smile, he wrote it down on the sheet.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect him to be so talkative,” Chris apologized, returning to Viktor’s side. He raised his mask to his face and adjusted the delicate line of black silk. His mask rested across his cheekbones as if it was painted on. “What name did you pick?”

Viktor gestured to the paper.

Chris leaned forward, frowning in the partially dim light to read the loopy handwriting. He straightened, leveling the other man with a heavy stare.

“You named yourself after an airline,” he deadpanned. “The name is supposed to be clever, poetic.”

“It is clever!” Viktor insisted.

“No, it’s telling everyone that you’re exhausting, no one is happy when they are inside you and the ride is always longer than you want it to be,” Chris retorted. “I mean… Unless that’s the vibe you’re going for.”

Viktor waved him off, “it’s poetic! I am left waiting for--”

“Tiny pretzels and biscotti?”

“No. Waiting for the right, er, passenger--”

Chris snorted.

“And no one has kept me waiting longer than Aeroflot,” Viktor went on, red high on his cheekbones and tinging his ears. He all but rammed the intricate silver and gold mask onto his face. “Mr. Holier-than-thou, what name did you pick?”

“Actually, I didn’t put down a name,” Chris answered.

“How mysterious,” Viktor grumbled. He had to adjust the mask on his face, the edges cutting into his skin.

“Exactly. Also, I don’t prefer to have a nickname,” Chris explained. A soft sigh escaped him. “This place is meant to be a safe zone, so to speak. No medals, no ice, no JJ.”

Viktor laughed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if this is a problem for you. But... Anonymous or not, I can just be. The mask is a formality,” Chris added.

Viktor quieted, listening.

Teasing and joking aside, he could certainly understand. The spotlight, the competitions could all be overwhelming. Even when he retreated to his home, a place meant to be comfortable, it felt more like a cage with everyone else squawking at him. Between the local news, the prying neighbors and his phone going off every two seconds, it was as if he never had any rest. And he couldn’t avoid any of it either. Any time he turned off his television, he turned to his phone. When he shut off or put away his phone, he would find himself sitting in silence and it wasn’t long before boredom set in and he’d be back watching TV again. The two things that helped distract him the most were the two things that caused him the biggest headaches. With his recent, increasing disinterest and wavering focus he couldn’t even use skating as a source of comfort anymore. It seemed that Chris, at least, understood that.

“Okay, Mr. Aeroflat,” Chris said, straightening and smiling in a cheeky sort of way. “Ready for take off?”

“It’s Aeroflot,” Viktor replied. “Am I going to have to listen to airplane puns all night?”

“You brought this on yourself,” Chris retorted, sliding an arm over his shoulders. “This party is leaving the station.”

“That’s a train pun. Completely different.”

Chris’ laughter echoed in Viktor’s ears as he was dragged through the lobby of the club and into the main floor.

The door opened into a entirely different world. Modern, dark and meticulously planned, it was like walking into a chic rich man’s perfect bar. Everything looked as if it was carved out of black glass--smooth, reflective and infinitely futuristic. One half of the room was dominated by a massive dancefloor and DJ station. Loud music was pumping through the air. Flashing lights of blues, purples and whites matched the beat. The private booths were tucked along the walls, open to the floor but hidden enough that it was hard to make out who was inside. The corners of the room were so dark it was impossible to tell how big or small it was but Viktor could see people disappearing at, seemingly random places. Close to the door, a long bar was built into the space. It was a 360 structure with a glass center piece wall that changed color with the music. It also seemed to shimmer as if it was covered in water. Upon closer inspection, Viktor realized that it was.

Chris led the way over to the bar. He waited until one of the bartenders was free before waving to them. He ordered their drinks for them. Looking over a menu someone had left on the counter, all of the drinks had impossibly clever names and massive lists of ingredients. Viktor was silently relieved that Chris was the one ordering.

“It can get really loud in here,” Chris explained, accepting his drink from the bartender. He nodded out to the floor with the blinking, almost seizure inducing lights. “Especially on the weekends.”

“I can see that,” Viktor said, already feeling himself talking louder over the heavy bass. He squinted at the DJ station, fairly sure he recognized the man operating it.

Frown lines were starting to crinkle around the edge of his mouth and between his brows. From the appearance of the lobby, he had expected a much older, classier establishment. Clubs had never been his scene. Too loud, too many people and with terribly over-priced drinks, he had tried to avoid them like the plague. Picking something up from his expression, even in the black-lit, dim room, Chris tapped his shoulder.

“There is a second floor,” Chris told him, leaning close to his ear. “It’s much quieter. If you don’t want to stay down here, I can show it to you.”

“That sounds quite scandalous,” Viktor joked. “But I would appreciate it.”

Chris nodded, “just tell me when.”

Viktor opened his mouth to ask right then and there but a spark of glittering blue caught his eye. He turned his head to follow the source, finding it attached to a curving black and blue mask. At first it seemed a very simple mask but every time the wearer moved, some new detail was exposed. Delicate jewels in a range of blue, silver and black sparkled along one side while the other was a curious carving of soft and sharp lines. It reminded Viktor of a battle between the heart and mind. Two halves constantly warring against each other, neither giving an inch and only leaving the body lost.

“You seem to be thinking something very complex,” Chris commented. “You should quit before you give yourself a headache.”

Viktor shot him a hard look and took a sip from his drink, cherry sweet and very strong. He needed a second to gather his question.

“Do you know everyone here?” Viktor asked, finally.

“Most. There are a lot of regulars,” Chris answered. “Why?”

“Do you,” Viktor paused, liking his lips and steeling himself, “know that man over there?”

Chris was not at all subtle as he craned his neck around, searching for the person Viktor had attempted to quietly point out. Of course, it seemed mostly for theatrics since he laughed loudly when Viktor hissed at him to stop. “The one next to Phichit?”

Viktor nearly spit his drink out. He had to stare extra hard to see the familiar skater behind the vibrant red and gold mask. It shouldn’t have been that hard for him to notice. Then again, he’d been thoroughly distracted by soft looking lips and a curious mask.

“Phichit comes here?”

“Of course. He’s the one who told me about this place,” Chris stated simply.

Now that came as a surprise, more than Phichit being there at all. Viktor had thought that Chris had found the club of his own volition. It was right up his alley. Although, as much as Vitkor knew about Phichit, it also seemed his style too. Judging by his brilliant smile and expressive gestures, he was very comfortable in the club. Vaguely Viktor wondered what the Thai skater had picked for his nickname. It was probably something very cute. Better than nothing, or an airline carrier.

“And no, I don’t know who is with him. I’ve never seen him before.” Chris leaned back slightly, gaze casting down. He gave a quiet, appreciative whistle. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that ass though.”

Viktor swatted his shoulder.

“Go talk to him,” Chris said.

Viktor shook his head. “I just got here,” he replied.

“No time like the present,” Chris urged, pushing him lightly. “Or is your boarding time delayed?”

“It’s not delayed. Chris, give me a second.”

Chris continued to push at him, needling him to take the chance. He poked and prodded at Viktor. “Go on, just do it. You promised me one night. Might as well make it a good one,” he pointed out.

“What do you want me to do?” Viktor asked, exasperated. He pulled away from Chris and swung his arm out. “Declare that I’d like buy him a drink and maybe ask for a dance.”

Chris’ eyes traveled down the line of Viktor’s arm. As they traveled a smile slowly started to get bigger and bigger. “I think you just did,” he commented.

Viktor’s head whipped around. Caught in a fairly dramatic pose, he locked eyes on the same mysterious mask that had caught his attention in the first place.

“Uh…” The stranger started.

“He’d love a drink,” Phichit called, leaning back from his seat and grinning at Viktor. “He’s been trying to think of a way to ask if you wanted one.”

“Phichit!”

Phichit laughed. He pushed off his barstool and went to the man’s side.

“Katsudon, this is Chris and--”

“Aeroflot,” Chris put in before Phichit could reveal Viktor’s name.

Phichit blinked. “Like… the airplane company?” He asked slowly.

“The very same,” Chris said with a nod. “You can put your arm down now.”

Feeling a touch foolish, Viktor lowered his arm and took a massive gulp of his drink. Phichit was eyeing him.

“Is that because Aerflot has the biggest plane in Russia?” He asked. “Are you saying you are… well endowed?”

Chris instantly bubbled into laughter.

Viktor choked on his drink for the second time that night. “What? No!”

Despite the mask, Katsudon’s face looked like it was on fire. He looked as horrified as Viktor felt.

“Anyway, I compete with them,” Phichit moved on and explained to Katsudon. “I like them both. They’re good people.”

“Thanks,” Chris said with a smile.

Still grinning brightly, Phichit shuffled Katsudon closer to Viktor. He gestured between them, as if demanding that one of them order the other a drink.

Phichit dragged Chris into a conversation. It sounded like it was about hamsters, but both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Moments later, they disappeared to the dance floor--leaving Viktor and Katsudon standing next to each other in an awkward silence.

“I don’t like it when it’s this loud,” Katsudon told him out of the blue.

Viktor was instantly relieved. “Me either,” he replied. “Chris told me there was a quieter lounge upstairs.”

Katsudon nodded.

“I’ll take you there,” he said.

Pushing away from the bar, Katsudon made his way across the floor.

Viktor watched him walk for a moment. Chris wasn’t wrong, he did have an unforgettable back side. Shaking off that thought, he hurried to catch up.

The second floor was leagues different from the first. A sweeping classic lounge with card tables, private banquet rooms, massive antique bars and elegant furniture. One entire wall was insulated glass that looked down at the dance floor below. The thumping music was muffled and only a dull background noise. It was vastly more Viktor’s style and he liked it instantly.

It seemed that Katsudon was more comfortable on that level as well. He made his way without hesitation to a distant corner of the room that was more closed off from the rest. He sat down on one of the couches and, after a moment, patted the cushion beside him.

Viktor smiled. “It is much better up here,” he said as he sat down.

Katsudon nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “I prefer it up here,” he replied.

A waiter stopped by, offering them a menu and fresh drinks.

Viktor ordered some snacks for them as it only seemed polite after the fiasco downstairs.

“You move very gracefully,” Viktor commented after a moment. Belatedly he realized it was a strange thing to say but decided to go with it.

“Thank you,” Katsudon replied, seeming pleased. “I’ve been training in ballet since I was eleven.”

Behind his mask, Viktor’s eyes widened.

“Ballet? That’s amazing,” he said. “I practiced ballet for a couple summers but just to help with my skating routine.”

Katsudon lifted his head to look at him, silent for a long moment. Then he said, “so you are figure skater. Phichit mentioned that.”

“Yes. I started when I was about six. I’ve been doing it for so long I can’t imagine doing anything else,” Viktor said.

The crushing feeling that he had been losing interest recently settled against his chest. He took a sip of his drink to distract himself from it.

“I wonder if I’ve seen you perform before,” Katsudon mused. “There is an ice rink in my hometown, I used to go there a lot and watch competitions.”

That seemed to break the proverbial ice better than whatever the mess downstairs could be classified as. Curiosity stirred in Viktor and he grilled Katsudon about his hometown. It sounded so quaint compared to St. Petersburg and it also sounded amazing. It reminded him of the town he’d read about and the urge to visit returned tenfold. He moved onto asking Katsudon about his ballet and what brought him all the way to Russia to train. The pair launched into a conversation filled with questions and answers. They were so wrapped up in talking to each other that their food and drinks lay forgotten. It was like meeting back up with an old friend. Speaking with Katsudon came so easily that Viktor felt as if he’d known him for years. He was coming back to a home he didn’t know he had.

Time slipped away from them.

The alarm on Viktor’s phone went off, warning him that he should be going to bed soon so he would be rested for training the next morning. He tapped it off.

“It’s time for me to run home,” Viktor told Katsudon, honestly disappointed that he had to end the night.

“You’ll come back, right?” Katsudon asked, quietly enough that it was clear he didn’t want to hear a rejection.

Viktor’s face split into a massive smile. “I’ll come back every time you’re here,” he promised.

\---

One night, it seemed, would turn into months worth of nights.

The only thing that made the grueling training and start of the competition season worth it was being able to go back to Cache. Without fail, Katsudon would be there whenever Viktor came for a visit. Slowly Viktor started to go to the club without Chris and Katsudon was doing the same without Phichit at his side.

At first, they had just indulged in the club, visiting the roof, moving to quite a few dance numbers or checking out the different bars. They had tried to keep the chatting impersonal in the beginning, as if talking about more would break the anonymity of the club. But both men failed on that account. They talked about the stresses of their work, all the places they’d traveled to and everything in between. Viktor learned that Katsudon was very animated when he talked about his family. That his parents owned a hotsprings and his sister helped out at it regularly. He’d learned the meaning behind Katsudon’s name, which was uttered haltingly and with a very red face. He thought it was clever. It fit the man perfectly; an unassuming dish that was packed with flavor and could entice anyone the second they tried. Or maybe that was just the man and Viktor was reading too far into it. Luckily for him, Katsudon had found his name very poetic. He had listened to Viktor complain about Chris’ constant ribbing with a quietly amused expression before reassuring him that he understood the reference.

Viktor had also learned that Katsudon had been inspired to dance by a figure skater’s grace and a family friend’s ballet studio. He wondered at who the skater was but chose not to ask. There was a chance he knew them and he didn’t want to be jealous. Every conversation unfolded some piece of Katsudon that Viktor latched onto. He didn’t have as much to trade back. He knew the second he started talking about his career, Katsudon would guess who he was. Instead, the most he did was complain about training sessions and brash fellow skaters, something Katsudon empathised with very deeply.

“I never get any rest,” Viktor had said one night.

They were on the second floor of the club, settled in one of the more private corners of the room. Lounging on plush couches and nursing drinks, Katsudon had to spend the night with his foot elevated. When Viktor had asked about it Katsudon had shrugged it off as a bad landing but the look on his face was troubling.

Viktor had decided to talk about his own training with Yakov in order to save Katsudon the pain of talking about the minor injury.

“I feel you,” Katsudon said with a nod. “Our coach pushes really hard but… It’s worth it in the end.”

Viktor bobbed his head in agreement. He didn’t think he’d have half the career he did without Yakov.

“Will you be able to practice tomorrow?” Viktor asked, gesturing at the resting foot with one hand.

“Only light practice which is going to piss our Prima off but…” Katsudon gave a slight shrug. “We’re weeks away from a major performance.”

Briefly Viktor wondered if Katsudon worked at the same studio that Yuri did. The chances were slim since there were hundreds of studios in the city. Plus he was sure that if Katsudon did, he would’ve gotten an earful from Yuri about an injured cast mate. Then again, he hadn’t checked his phone since he’d reached the club.

They spent the rest of the night chatting about the up-coming holidays. Neither really had plans for them although Katsudon toyed with the idea of going back home, at least for New Years. It was another peaceful night in a growing sea of others.

Viktor spent more and more of his time at the club with Katsudon. Training had become a breeze when he knew he had something to look forward to at the end of the day. Eventually he had worked up the nerve to ask for Katsudon’s phone number.

“I’m going to America,” he explained. “I thought it might be nice to chat or something.”

Katsudon chewed on his lower lip. He shifted in his seat, visibly unsure.

“I’ll give it to you,” Phichit piped up from the chair beside Katsudon.

“What--”

“Here, give me your phone,” Phichit said, holding his hand out for Viktor’s mobile.

“I’ll give it to him,” Katsudon said in a rush. “I mean, I want to give it to you.”

Viktor beamed and handed his phone over.

“I’ll text you so you have mine too,” he offered as he watched Katsudon put his alias and number in.

While overseas, Viktor texted Katsudon constantly. It was an extension of their time in the club. Occasionally, they would trade pictures back and forth but never of their faces. Mostly the pictures were of places or things, a strange statue Viktor had found or a cute cafe Katsudon had stumbled across.

Any time his phone lit up, Viktor rushed to answer. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t dread looking at the tiny screen. In fact, he looked forward to Katsudon’s responses. Somehow a lot of Katsudon’s deadpan humor made it through the typed answers and emoji’s. It was like he’d brought a small piece of home with him and he told Katsudon that constantly, much to the other’s chagrin.

After finishing the competition in America, Viktor was more than ready to be back home. More importantly, he was ready to see Katsudon again.

\---

Katsudon met him in the lobby. He looked up from his phone when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw that it was Viktor.

Viktor gave him a wave and trotted up to him.

“Your mask is crooked,” Katsudon pointed out, lifting his hand to poke the mask.

“Ah, so it is,” Viktor agreed, fixing the mask.

“I want to go to the roof tonight. Phichit told me the city looks really good at night.”

That was something Viktor could readily agree with. It wasn’t the most stunning view of St. Petersburg but it was certainly a good one. With fall giving way to winter and the city setting up lights for the holidays, it was like watching the night sky bleed down to the ground.

“It’ll be cold though,” Viktor pointed out as they made their way upstairs.

“That’s okay. You’ll keep me warm,” Katsudon answered with a cheeky edge to his voice.

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat and his thoughts went fuzzy for a moment. He missed Katsudon briefly grabbing his necktie, tugging at it nervously.

The rooftop was decently empty when they arrived. Other patrons were avoiding the cold.

“I’ll find a seat,” Katsudon said.

Viktor nodded and moved over to the bar to order them something warm to drink. Once he had the mugs in hand, he turned to find Katsudon. The man had found a seat toward the edge of the roof. In the semi-private seating, lit by twinkling fairy lights and the city behind him, he was ethereal. The sight made Viktor pause. For a moment the world fell away and all he could see was Katsudon. It was like setting eyes on his future and being reassured that everything would work out.

“Hot cocoa,” Viktor said after he’d forced himself to move.

Katsudon accepted the drink with a thanks. He patted the space beside him.

Viktor took the offered seat. He leaned back against the chilled wood of the bench, looking out over the city.

For a moment the two men sipped their drinks in silence. Then carefully, as if afraid of spooking Viktor, Katsudon shifted closer. Pressed against his chest, Katsudon frowned down at his mug.

“It’s cold,” Katsudon explained.

Viktor chuckled quietly. He rested his cheek against the top of Katsudon’s head and closed his eyes. There was an intense peace in that moment. Even despite the cold, he wouldn’t trade anything in the world to be on the roof right then.

“You don’t mind me being here,” Katsudon voiced, it was almost a question.

“Not at all,” Viktor answered. He straightened so he could look down at Katsudon. He set his mug aside and caught his chin. “I prefer you by my side.”

Katsudon’s eyes widened for a second before his expression eased into a smile. His eyes glittered in the light and Viktor couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Those lips were just as soft as he expected them to be. It was a split second before his mind told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was kissing Katsudon. He was kissing a man he didn’t know the name of but had found a better home with than anywhere else on the planet. He had found an unwavering calm in a man behind a mask.

Katsudon’s hands lifted to cradle his jaw. The tips were slightly chilled and sent a shiver down Viktor’s spine. With a tilt of his head, he deepened the kiss.

Viktor was fully content to spend the rest of the night on the roof, pressed close to Katsudon, with those soft lips on his. Wrapping his arm around Katsudon’s narrow waist, he only shortened the slight distance between them. He had no idea why they hadn’t done it sooner and desperately wished he could continue for the rest of his life.

Yet the outside world had it’s own plans.

A disgruntled sigh escaped Katsudon as his phone erupted in his pocket. He pulled back from Viktor to answer.

“Hello? Yes, yes, I will be there in the morning,” he reassured the other person on the line. “It’s not that late. I…”

Viktor waited with a touch of impatience. His knee bounced as he silently urged the call to end.

The expression on Katsudon’s features as he finished the call suggested the night was over. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Time to go?” Viktor asked.

Katsudon nodded. He lifted his gaze back up to Viktor. After a second he lifted his hand back to Viktor’s face. “Can we do this again?” Katsudon asked, a clear want for Viktor to say yes echoing behind his words.

Viktor nodded, probably too fast for his neck to handle. “Absolutely!”

Katsudon’s lips twisted in amusement. Pulling his hand away he got to his feet.

“Wait, I’ll walk you out,” Viktor offered, standing as well.

The mugs of cocoa were forgotten on the floor.

Silently Katsudon lowered his hand to grasp Viktor’s. He threaded their fingers together and made his way to the door.

Viktor trailed a step behind, his heart in the sky.

At the entrance to the stairwell, Katsudon leaned up to press a chaste kiss to Viktor’s lips.

“Good night,” Katsudon said, releasing his hand and moving through the door.

For a long moment Viktor couldn’t move. He took a few steps into the stairwell, watching Katsudon disappear down them. Viktor felt over-heated. His heart was pounding in his chest, hard enough to make his ribs hurt. He couldn’t stop smiling--his cheeks hadn’t done so much work in such a long time. He let out an explosive sigh of happiness. His head fell back to thump against the wall, eyes closed. Reaching up, he peeled off his mask, letting his face breathe. He kept his eyes shut, letting the last images of the night stain across his eyelids.

Vaguely he heard the sound of footsteps coming up toward him but he was unconcerned about being recognized. He was walking on sunbeams.

Only the sound of the footsteps stopping and a sharp intake of breath made him open his eyes. He raised his head only just barely catching a glimpse of someone hurriedly disappearing back downstairs. He thought he recognized the sweater as the same one he’d been clutching for the better part of the night but brushed it off. Katsudon had long since gone home.

“You look incredibly pleased with yourself,” Chris commented as he came up the stairs. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, a curious expression on his face before returning his gaze to Viktor.

Viktor laughed. He slung his arm around Chris’ shoulders. “I really ought to thank you for bringing me here,” he said, moving with Chris back up to the roof.

“Yeah, you really should,” Chris replied.

\---

In the morning, Viktor woke to his phone going off. Half expecting it to be Chris, he picked it up to answer.

“Bring me coffee,” Yuri demanded the second he’d answered.

“Why can’t you get it?” Viktor asked, lifting his other hand to rub his eye.

“Lilia won’t let me leave and I have to teach Piglet the Butterfly,” Yuri answered.

Viktor yawned softly. He remembered Yuri had complained about a fellow dancer before. Something about having talent but letting it go to waste and suffer under anxiety. Honestly, he’d been on the other dancer’s side. He knew how damaging pressure and nerves could be but it was usually easier just to let Yuri rant. Besides, he’d thought the dancer was very cute, soft but with an edge that suggested a stunning debut. He was very sure their name was Yuuri but that could’ve been his sleep addled brain putting names where they didn’t belong.

“Have Mila get it then,” Viktor said, pushing himself out of bed and moving to get dressed.

“She’s out today,” Yuri answered. He heard Lilia in the background demanding that Yuri get off his phone. The demands were soundly ignored. “I guess get something for this kartoshka too. He looks half-dead on his feet anyway.”

Viktor grimaced in sympathy. Being exhausted and listening to Yuri was a one-two punch he didn’t wish on anyone.

“I will be there in twenty minutes,” Viktor said as he pulled on his clothes for the day.

“Make it ten,” Yuri said and before Viktor could complain about the impossibility of that, he hung up.

Between getting dressed, feeding Makkachin, preparing her for a walk and actually getting the coffee, it took closer to thirty minutes before Viktor reached the studio. Not that he felt it was all that urgent to get there. He carried a tray of coffees, one for himself and the rest for the people trapped inside. He’d even gotten one for Lilia, a tea actually, because if anyone deserved one, it was her.

“Finally,” Yuri burst out the second he spotted Viktor. Dropping from pointe, he padded over to Viktor.

“Which one is mine?”

“The biggest one,” Viktor answered. He watched Makkachin stick her nose to the ground and sniff around. She gave a gravelly woof every once in awhile but otherwise stuck to sniffing.

Yuri snatched the drink and took a grateful gulp.

A strangled gasp caught both of their attentions and they looked to the source. Even Makka lifted her head, tail wagging.

In the far corner over by the balance bar, Lilia and Yuri’s fellow dancer were locked in a stretching pose. The man’s eyes were huge and trained on Viktor.

“What’s wrong with you?” Yuri asked, brow shooting to his hairline.

“Bad stretch, Yuuri?” Lilia asked, not lifting her hand from his shoulders.

_So it was Yuuri_ , Viktor thought to himself. He also had the distinct feeling he’d met him before. At the very least those lips were familiar to him. “Are you okay?” Viktor added.

Yuuri visibly swallowed and he shook his head rapidly.

Viktor couldn’t help but stare at the man as he struggled to get back into stretching. There was something so familiar about him, so much like home but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Starstruck,” Yuri muttered. He lifted the tray away from Viktor. He removed the drink he decided was Viktor’s and pushed it into his hands. “Get out.”

Not giving Viktor the chance to reply, he started to push him out of the studio. Makkachin followed a step behind, trotting happily.

“You’re distracting,” Yuri told him. “And if you stick around you’ll do that weird happy clapping thing. We need to perfect Don Quixote.”

“Oh? Well, then I won’t bother you,” Viktor said with a laugh as small hands pushed at his back until he was on the sidewalk. “Good luck.”

Yuri closed the door on him.

With a shrug, Viktor turned with Makkachin back to his apartment. He lifted his drink for a sip and realized that he had been given Yuuri’s drink. He didn’t mind that it was rather sweet.

\---

It took a couple nights before Viktor could return to the club. He’d suffered through a series of Yakov’s grueling training sessions and had been too tired to go out.

Now that it was the weekend and Yakov had granted him a blessed night off, he took his chance to return to the club. After all, he had to see Katsudon again.

Except, when he reached the club, he couldn’t find the man anywhere. Not on the roof or even in the restrooms. In the press of too many people, Viktor was lost and confused. The club felt bizarrely empty and over full. No matter where Viktor searched he couldn’t find Katsudon. None of the people he’d come to recognize as fellow regulars had seen him either. Phichit had been cryptically vague about Katsudon’s whereabouts and had pulled Chris off for a dance number before he could help in the search. Left scratching his head, Viktor didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t spent a night at the club without Katsudon. Perhaps he was sick? He could make him a care package and send it with Phichit. Or he had injured himself. He had mentioned a performance was coming up.

“Mr. Aeroflot,” a staff member said, stepping up to him. “You have a phone call.”

“Oh, thank you,” Viktor said, curious. He headed over to the bar and asked for the phone. “Hello?”

There was a pause as the person on the other side gathered themselves to speak.

“Is this Viktor Nikiforov?” They asked.

Viktor blinked, instantly recognizing the voice. His heart skipped a beat, hearing his name fall from that mouth. His lips split into a grin immediately.

“Katsudon,” he replied. “It’s me!”

A shaky sort of sigh echoed in his ear, making his smile sink slightly.

“What is it?” He prompted, mostly just to hear him speak again. If he was lucky he would say his name.

“I’m not coming back to the club,” Katsudon stated, sure. “I have to end this.”

Viktor’s entire body went cold. His grip on the phone was white-knuckle tight. It felt as if it took too long for his throat to work again.

“Wait,” he croaked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

“No! You didn’t do anything,” the voice on the other end hastened to reassure him. It was breathless, terrified but also, resolute. “It’s just… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand! Katsudon,” Viktor hissed. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“We just need to end this.”

Before Viktor could get another word in, the line clicked and went dead. He’d been left standing in a deafening silence in one ear and smooth jazz in the other. It made his head spin and his stomach hurt.

“Viktor?” Chris asked quietly, moving up beside him at the bar. He placed his hand to his shoulder.

The contact made Viktor jump. Without any feeling in his hand, he lowered the receiver to the bar and turned his head to look at Chris.

Chris’ eyes went wide.

“What on Earth--what happened?” He asked, lifting his hand to brush back the tears that had started to cascade down Viktor’s face without him even realizing.

“That was Katsudon,” Viktor got out. He caught Chris’ hand, effectively stopping him. “He wants to end this, us.”

Chris was silent for a long moment. His expression was surprisingly caring, if not grave. He set his drink down on the bar so he could use his free hand to grip Viktor’s shoulder.

For a long moment, neither man spoke.

“Does that mean you’re katsu- _done_?”

There was a sharp, tense silence, then--Viktor groaned so loudly three people turned to stare at him.

They could only stare more as he slapped the side of Chris’ head.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a requested piece for someone on Tumblr. They had a wonderful idea and let me go hog-wild with it. Mostly, I just wanted to write Chris destroying Victor. c:
> 
> **kartoshka means Potato


End file.
